


and the punch line is vehicular manslaughter

by cryingat7am



Category: Free!
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Grand Theft Auto References, Humor, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Video & Computer Games, but makoto's a gamer so like he'd have one right..., the T is solely for rin's potty mouth, xboxes in japan? more likely than you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22585606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryingat7am/pseuds/cryingat7am
Summary: in which makoto tachibana gets cyberbullied in gta 5.
Relationships: Nanase Haruka/Tachibana Makoto
Kudos: 20





	and the punch line is vehicular manslaughter

Catching them by the bridge, Makoto once more prevented the steady escape of his glasses, both arms hoisting straight in the air above him so he could, again, refresh the memory of the controller in his hand’s layout. The A, X, Y and B buttons remained in their diamond, joysticks parallel where they rested under both his thumbs and d-pad unmoved and unused. The sound of a rapidly approaching vehicle played through his headset, jerking his attention back to the television screen just in time to spot the oncoming muscle car, panic, and direct his character _right_ even though he could’ve sworn flicking the thumb stick _left_. Noticeably cringing as the poor man ran right into the red and black blur, a frown crossed his face, brows knitting together and lips pressed into a thin line as the perpetrator found his antics to be absolutely _hysterical_.

  
“Jesus fuckin’ _Christ_ ,” Rin wheezed, voice changed with the temporary switch to English, between poor attempts at curbing the laughter plaguing him. “You got _creamed_. _Absolutely fucking **creamed**_. Oh god, I can’t breathe. That was so god damn great.”

  
The sentiments were shared by the other participants of the call. In the background, Nagisa gasped something along the lines of, ‘ _I’m gonna die!!_ ’ through the onslaught of his giggles before descending into little more than strangled breaths, the solid thumping that followed most likely a fist pounding into his desk. Rei’s chuckles were hardly audible over all the commotion, but he’d caught both them and the mumbled apology that came after.

  
“Ah, god…” Rin sighed in relief, outburst finally coming to a conclusion. A few weak laughs trailed after it, and Makoto cycled off of the RPG he chose to equip as the other continued. “Man. You need to play handicapped more often. Maybe the rest of us would _actually_ have a chance to catch up.”

  
He couldn’t help rolling his eyes, shoving his frames back to their allotted spot again. Half of last semester had been spent in accelerated classes. Those wrapped up a good week before the rest of them did, and even with an increase in hours at his part-time job, Makoto’s schedule remained relatively empty. Could he _really_ be to blame for the lucky circumstances that just happened to offer an excess of free time when he possessed no control over them, when he hadn’t even noticed until after the fact?

  
Apparently.

  
Though all in fun and games, Nagisa’s whine of, ‘ _But Mako-chan, it’s not **fair**!_’ easily roused guilt despite the very obvious, playful tone. So when it was suggested, with not an ounce of seriousness, that he should be put at a disadvantage so everyone might be on an even playing field, he agreed with only minor hesitation. There was surprise in their reactions, but no one seemed particularly inclined to dissuade him.

  
It’s why, now, Makoto’s seated on the couch, upside down and trying to relearn his cardinal directions while wondering just where in the hell his mechanic’s gotten to as, not for the last time, his second set of eyes begin descending down his forehead.

  
A hand not his own—they’re both on the controller, tightly—pushes the glasses back to where they belong, and a brief flicker of a glance is cast towards his almost forgotten companion seated on the floor, other arm curled up on the free cushion next to his. Before he’s able to offer a grateful smile and the words to go with it, there’s the hum of an electric engine revving in his ears and a sinking dread in the pit of his stomach.

  
Hesitant to face the inevitable repeat of earlier’s events, Makoto’s gaze unwillingly travelled back to the game and, a camera pan later, found the source of his new unease. Nagisa, or Nagisa’s _character,_ rather, sped toward his own the fastest his vehicle would allow. The top speed of a scooter was by no means impressive, but that didn’t make the fact a blessing, as, despite having the time to gather his bearings and _move_ , he still found himself plastered to the concrete in wake of the bubblegum pink Faggio. The intensity of laughter, which had never _really_ faded in the first place, renewed with vigor, and shortly after the other two were quick to join as his handle simultaneously appeared in both the killfeed and in a banner across the now-monochrome display.

  
“Na-Nagisa!!” he pitched in disbelief, glare aimed at the TV just as incredulous. Spectating until the initiation of the next round, the camera automatically tracked his in-game murderer, and he really couldn’t help bitterly switching the view until it followed Rei, harmless Rei who’d done him no injustice. The change barely made, breathless apologies gasped through the muted static when the slightest of movements and noises caused him yet another distraction. He whipped around sharply toward the source, but that intensity was quickly lost.

  
Flushed face buried in his arm and the couch, Haruka’s shoulders shook jerkily, short scoffs still managing to escape despite the firm hold of his lip between his teeth. Quite aware of the bewildered look cast his direction, definitely having picked up Makoto’s mumbled, ‘ _uh, hold on guys_ ’ an eye forced open to regard the other. Fringe pulled back away from his forehead by gravity, frames for the umpteenth time beginning their descent, and a look of unadulterated bewilderment, tinged with concern, formed the image before him.

  
“H-Haru…?” Makoto stammered unsurely, throat tight and voice high with emotion as the start to a smile tinted the corners of his lips.

  
“Sorry,” he rasped in return, attempting to regain what breath the awkward laughter cost him. Free hand raising, it settled familiarly against the warm, tanned side of the other’s face. “It’s just—Nagisa’s scooter. You getting _run over_ by Nagisa’s scooter. It’s not funny. It’s not funny, but…”

  
An undignified snort interrupted the apology, this time his giggles accompanied by deeper, uncertain chuckles that grew in confidence. A hand mimicking his own, Haruka was coaxed forward into a kiss, fleeting between their combined mirth. More followed, each increasingly brief as their absurd positioning, the previous in-game events and mere contagion made _not_ laughing nigh impossible.

  
Minutes, maybe hours, later, Makoto rolled, legs slipping down from their perch to curl behind Haru’s head on the couch and partially dangle over an upholstered arm. They quieted gradually, the quaint apartment returning to its comfortable hush.

  
Headset off, around his neck, glasses removed all together and strands of dark hair tickling his collar, Makoto couldn’t find it within himself to bring attention to the rematch voting screen awaiting his input.


End file.
